Push
by Freyja22
Summary: Found in dire straights, Maureen joins up with the survivors post fall of the Greene Family Farm. Too afraid to fully trust people and more afraid to be alone, she forms a bond with the resident crossbow wielding redneck and learns what it means to be a part of a family. Rated M for adult themes. Daryl/OC.
1. Chapter 1 - Ash Street

Hey everybody, So I'm not real big on author's notes. I'd rather just let the story do the talking. However, I'll take the time to say that I'm a first timer here and this is my first Walking Dead FF. I'd love to hear what readers think so please do leave a review or comment, I would appreciate it greatly. I'm not going to make promises on how often I'll post chapters simply because I have a super hectic/draining job and sometimes my brain feels like mush when I get home and frankly I just can't be tied down to a schedule. My goal is to upload once a week though. I think that's enough of me going on... I hope you enjoy!

* * *

There was a girl Merle lived across the street from when Daryl was in his mid-teens, just after Merle got out of jail and was dishonorably discharged from the military for knocking out his Commanding Officer's front teeth. She was a few years younger than himself, a nice girl with pretty strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. Blue as all get out. They made his blue-grey eyes pale in comparison.

The neighborhood was unsavory. She was a sharp contrast from the screaming fights that could be heard from the people next door and the drug deals the went on out front. She came from the good side of town where she grew up slower and sweeter. Her single mother struggled to make money to support the two of them leaving the only option to move there.

And when they passed each other on the crumbling side walk on the days Daryl went to visit his brother after school or sometimes when he just couldn't stand to sit in class for one more minute, or when his father was shit faced drunk again and he didn't feel safe; she'd smile at him. A kind smile. There was never a trace of pity for him in her expression, for which he was always grateful. Maybe it was only because she seemed to think that all in the world was good and holy that she smiled at him like that. She seemed oblivious, thinking back on it now, to the drug deal going on across the street, to the woman above who was throwing her cheating boyfriend's belongings out the window.

He wished he remembered her name. He'd never traded words with her. Never smiled back at her. He'd only ever given her a sideways-downward glance. He strained his memory, trying to recall the name her mother had yelled out the open window, calling her to dinner. Meredith? Mirabelle? Something not real common that started with an 'M' and that was all he was sure of. He could still hear the ringing sound of the 'M' humming from the woman's mouth.

He wished Merle was around so he could ask him the name of the girl who live across the road on Ash Street. He'd probably call him something derogatory for asking and then say hell if he remembered. After all Merle only lived on Ash for all of three months before he was evicted. And even then, it wasn't like that was the kind of thing Merle paid any mind to. Still, it was nice to have someone to bounce one's thoughts off of.

Daryl was finally truly alone in the world. He knew how unlikely it was that his brother made it out of Atlanta alive no matter how crafty he was. Occasionally he longed for the leash that had been unclasped when his brother disappeared from his life. No longer did he have anyone to lead him around. As embarrassing as it could be to be part of the family sometimes, he missed his rough and tumble, bull-headed brother. Merle was a strong believer of tough love. Maybe that was how Daryl managed to survive this long. This time the abandonment he felt was different. Back then it felt devastating. Back then it was a sentence to abuse and neglect.

In the present, being on his own was refreshing, like a cleansing dip in a little secluded waterhole. But there were things which Daryl couldn't mention to anyone else; that no one else would pretend to understand or listen to. Things he was too ashamed of to mention.

He was suddenly allowed to form his own ideas and beliefs, but having no voice to go along with it made it feel a little pointless. He wasn't always sure why he stayed with the group. He didn't need them to survive, he could do that all on his own. Self-sufficiency wasn't a new concept to the thirty one year old.

After a while Daryl made himself bury Merle in a little plot in his mind. It was horrible to belong to someone who was gone. To still struggle to embark on his own. Daryl was making strides though and making a difference for the group. No one could say otherwise. These people were becoming family.

Lying on his back with his hands folded behind his head, he wondered if that blue-eyed girl was dead. Best bet in this new world was that pretty much anyone you'd known from your past life, anyone you passed on the street, any girl you'd ever taken home with you after a night of drinking, any guy you'd ever shaken hands with over a bet was probably if not definitely dead. Or one of _them._

He had the fleeting hope that she might still be alive, safe somewhere. But then wasn't so sure if anyone who was still alive was actually lucky to be. What was left of life, but to wander around aimlessly day to day just hoping that one day out of the clear blue sky a miracle might fall into your lap.

Daryl sighed quietly to himself and shook his head. No use dwelling on the past. He told this to himself daily. He repeated it like a mantra, but deep inside, he knew he was constantly doing just that; dwelling, worrying, gnawing on the inside of his cheek until it was nearly raw.

Please, God, just let me catch an hour or maybe two of shut eye before I have to take watch, the plea coursed through his brain. But there was no use praying, even for sleep. If there ever was a God at all, he surely wasn't around anymore or he just didn't give a rats ass what happened to his tempted, broken creations.

It didn't feel like long before Daryl felt the tapping of someone's shoe on the toe of his boot. When he managed to pry his eyes open he saw T-Dog staring at him expectantly. Only about an hour of sleep was had.

"Your turn, man." T-Dog shook his head as if he thought it just wasn't right and went to sit against a tree not far from Daryl's make-shift sleeping bag which was really just two thick, heavy blankets which Carol had sewn into a sack-like entity. It was still too warm to lie inside the sack, but the nights were getting cooler and soon everyone would be even more grateful to have them than they already were. She'd managed to make one for pretty much everyone in the group who didn't already have a sleeping bag and was now working to finish the last one, her own. Daryl tried to make her save his for last, but she just wouldn't budge on the issue, saying "If you don't take it, I just won't use it until everyone else has one." It had angered and annoyed him to no end when she said it, but he gave in knowing that on certain matters sometimes she could be even more stubborn than he was. She was different now. She'd metamorphosed more quickly than he knew he ever could or was ever willing to. She was an entirely different person from the woman he remembered at the Quarry.

Daryl leaned against the hood of the Hyundai Tucson. The car had been handy and easy on gas, but he still thought it was ugly. Good for leanin' on during watch though. He rubbed his eyes and leaned his crossbow against the car. His eyes felt puffy. His muscles ached from lack of protein and calories. Time to go hunting again, he thought. He wouldn't voice his complaints to anyone, but it was all getting to him.

Day in and day out it was the same routine since they'd been force to abandon the farm: Wake up, eat a meager portion of some cold, canned something if there was enough to go around, make a plan for the day, pack what little had been unpacked from the night before, get a move on. Stop for a break mid day if there was a safe place, take a leak, take a drink, maybe hunt for a bit, keep moving and look for provisions. Search for a safe place to hunker down for the night, furthermore, the winter and eat another meager portion of some canned something if he'd been unable to hunt that day. All of this before having to take first or sometimes second watch. Press repeat and relive it again the next day.

Daryl stretched and yawned, running a hand over the back of his neck. It would be a long a night.


	2. Chapter 2 - Andromeda

I decided to post chapter two a little early since the last was much more subdued. This one has more going on and introduces my o.c., Maureen.

* * *

Maureen sat leaning against the glossy cement block wall of the mid-nineties single story office building. Her head drooped to the side, a vacant expression on her face. She only slept three hours the night before, awakened by her dreams with a start. The surreal vision of seeing herself standing on the roof of an old friend's highrise apartment building, the sky glowing orange still played against her eyelids. In the dream she saw herself watch the modern empire fall into the hands of dead.

The past month had been a revolving door of pure hell. The days seemed to blend together. Each day seemed to have neither a beginning nor an end. Her hunger was a vague thought; no longer a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stopped eating two days ago, in the evening she thought it was.

The laughter of the men across from her brought her back to reality. "You okay Peaches 'n' cream?" One of the men snickered. "I think she's lost it." Her eyes darted around the room, her head foggy. Their voices echoed in her ears. She dragged the back of her hand across her clammy forehead in an effort to clear her head. She blinked hard.

"You hungry?" Another man stood holding a can of baked beans.

Hunger. Yeah, she was hungry. She must be hungry. Not baked beans again, she thought.

"Come on. You gotta eat babe. You need your strength." He nudged her leg and smiled unkindly.

She knew she should feel hot in the building with its still oppressive air, but she was cold. Her body felt disconnected from her mind. Her dress soaked with cold sweat. The man knelt between her legs and waved the spoon in front of her face, a big bite that threatened to fall off the spoon.

She shifted and winced, trying to keep her neck from kinking up. He placed the spoon directly in front of her lips, the spoon just touching her bottom lip. She closed her eyes and looked away and wiped the sauce from her bottom lip using her shoulder.

Another man said, "If you know what's good for ya you'd eat that. Told you she ain't one tad bit grateful for what we've provided for 'er," He turned his attention back to her. "Could've left you for dead like the rest of yer group, but we gave you a safe place to rest that pretty little head'a yours, fed ya, showed ya a good ol' time. And we don't get one word of thanks."

"Leave me alone or put me down," she garbled.

"Put 'er down, you hear that Andy. Damn, bitch must be desperate. You don't like us, Hon? Or are you just sad over those people you called a family? Thought you said ya didn't know 'em well. Only knew 'em a week. Put 'er on suicide watch, Landry!" The three chuckled.

They all stiffened and Maureen's eyes widened a bit at the creaking door. The large man slammed it behind him, carrying a bag of supplies over his shoulder. "Hey," he growled, "Appleton, Landry boys! What the fuck are you three doing? Don't tell me you're all just sitting around while I'm out there risking my life."

"Nothin', nothing", "Taking care of 'er", "Yeah, uh huh," the three men stammered all at once.

"Didn't know you were gone," the man named Andy squeaked out.

"Make sure she eats and drinks some. Don't tell me it takes the three of you to fix her up, either. Then send her in to me. One of you morons, start organizing supplies." He moved quickly to the next room, not so much as glancing at Maureen and slammed the door to the office behind him.

The men worked diligently from that point on. One took out the coffee press and measured the grounds. The man still kneeling in front of her shoved the spoonful of beans into her mouth, holding her chin, making sure she didn't spit any out. She swallowed the beans with minimal chewing, trying not to think of them so that she didn't gag.

The coffee, she readily accepted. She loved coffee. She couldn't turn it down no matter how bad it was. The tepid, weak liquid hurt her dry throat at first and then gradually it became more soothing.

After they finished with her they stood her up. They had to half carry-half walk her into the room not only because she was weak, but also due to her general unwillingness, and sat her in the chair in front of their leader. Their hasty, jerking movements made her head spin.

The men waited for words of instruction, but only received an impatient glare before they left the room.

"You've already overstayed your welcome," He began. Maureen's dead eyes turned to confusion. They were keeping her here. She wanted to leave. "I think you've paid your dues. You're only a distraction to us now. You'll leave in the morning."

"What?" She whispered, her brow creasing slightly and cocking her head.

"Don't worry, you do what I say tonight and I'll fix you up real well for supplies." His tone was even and virtually uncaring.

"I," she trailed off. Her thoughts were headed into a full tailspin.

The man ran his hands through his dark hair impatiently, clearly annoyed by her. "We're moving out tomorrow. Found a good truck and now we're ready to head west. I hear it's better out there."

"You scavenged all my group's things didn't you?" Her voice was sad and full of acceptance.

"They're dead. Finders keepers. You can have a few items and what's rightfully yours. Your belongs," he clarified. "Come here." He stood up and moved from behind the desk, waving her to him. She shook her head and snapped her eyes shut in a vain attempt at refusal, but he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him. Her heart raced, the beat humming in her temples. It vibrated through her. His hand was on the back of her neck, his fingers pressing on the sensitive area causing her to shrink under him. He leaned her over the desk, the ink blotter slid under her. There was a coffee cup full of cigarette butts next to her. She decided to focus on that.

He tugged at her underwear and let them fall around her ankles. He grasped her long, red hair in preparation to keep her in place as he entered her so carelessly. The ink blotter kept sliding back and forth underneath her with each thrust. It made it hard to focus on the coffee cup so she began skimming the dates on the ink blotter calendar. Meetings written in red, some pieces of unused tape. Lunch at Connolly's with Harvey written on the 28th of May. The day the first reports of outbreak began to come in. She wondered if the person who worked here ever got to have lunch with Harvey.

Her aching insides kept drawing her attention away from the blotter. Each thrust was more painful that the last, her body now fully rejecting him. She felt torn up and swollen. Her muscles tightened with each impalement and she bit her lip. "Relax," he growled. One hand was on her upper back, most of his weight leaning on that hand. The other grabbing, painfully squeezing her buttock until he finished. Maureen closed her eyes and held it all in.

Mack's world ended when his wife died. She was one of those ungodly things now. He liked this distraction from that pain. He stared at her scars as he pounded her again. Old cigarette burns formed figurative constellations on her body. On her arms, her back, her stomach, her ass. He thought he saw Scorpio on her shoulder blade. He searched for other patterns on her branded skin. The stars burned bright. He felt urged to leave his mark on her too.

He pulled out and grabbed his last cigarette from behind his ear and lit it as she moved to pull up her panties, thinking he'd signaled the end. His lips wrapped around the filter and hot-boxed the cigarette, trying to make the cherry hot and red.

"Stop." He gritted his teeth and tore her underwear back down. It didn't hit her what exactly he was about to do until he told her to hold still.

The men outside the door heard her pleading for the man to stop. They could hear the struggle. Things crashing to the floor. There was panic in her voice. Unsure of what he was doing to her, they all looked at each other with worry and confusion riddling their faces. Screaming took over the pleading which gave way to sobbing. The men all looked away when the girl shuffled out of the room with tears rolling down her flushed face. The scent of burning flesh lingered from the office.

The younger Landry brother, who was only younger by a few minutes, stood but faltered. She looked too fragile to touch. Like the lightest touch from the tip of his finger would shatter her to the core and cause her to tumble to the floor into a thousand tiny pieces.

His stomach told him exactly how repulsed he was before his brain. He hadn't realized all this time what they were doing or what kind or unseen scars they were leaving. He grabbed the piss bucket and hurled. The elder brother looked more repulsed by his brother than the sight of the woman sitting in front of them. "All we've seen and this is what finally makes ya toss your cookies."

The man wiped his mouth and spat one more time before gulping his water. He glared at his brother. "Fuck off," he growled and turned to see the redhead crumpled on the floor in the corner of the room. He grabbed a blanket from the pile and threw it over her before he lost the nerve to help her.

Maureen didn't move, she kept her breathing shallow, her heartbeat even louder now and her lungs aching for oxygen rich breaths. A lack of endorphins coursed through her veins to sooth her searing flesh adequately. She was absolutely exhausted. Sleep overtook her in minutes. She hoped she simply wouldn't wake up.


	3. Chapter 3 - Griffin Town Line

No matter how little sleep he got, no matter how much his tired, sleep deprived mind fizzled Daryl always got that squirrel. It was a matter of survival so missing his target simply wasn't an option. He looked on at the arrow which had pinned the helpless animal to the tree. It died instantly. Satisfaction sank in as he tied it to him. Dinner. The others would be thrilled at the prospect of meat. No one could tell him that he wasn't a valuable part of the group now.

Their past two meals had consisted of of black-eyed peas and the most vile, cold, canned collard greens he thought he'd ever eaten. The stuff was hard to swallow, but it certainly silenced his growling stomach.

He had four squirrels strung to him and hoped to find a fifth on the way back to the road. A rabbit would be a real prize. He watched his feet, taking care to avoid stepping on any dry branches that might snap underfoot, scaring anything away. Ambling towards the direction of the road, he noticed an area of leaves that looked like they had been recently stirred. The semi-wet, rotting oak leaves under the top layer of dry ones poked through, signaling an animal had been digging around there very recently. He crouched and looked to the left of the tree, seeing several acorn hulls and caps strewn at the bottom of the nearby oak. He heard rustling from above, loaded, and aimed his bow in the general direction the sound came from. There was a blur moving in the high branches of the tree as he released the bolt, moments later the squirrel was falling towards the earth below.

Daryl looked at the sun through the top of the tree canopy. The road wasn't far and it wasn't quite time to be back yet so Daryl decided to sit for a spell and admire the slight breeze that was coming down through the trees. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow that threatened to fall in his eyes.

This was where he felt his best. In the forest, alone with just his thoughts. No one to butt in and ruin a daydream, no one tellin' him that he should get off his ass and do something. He watched as another squirrel darted around, fifty or so feet away, oblivious or maybe just uncaring of his presence. He thought about grabbing his crossbow and taking it down but something stopped him.

Shuffling came from behind him, a snapping twig alerted him further. Daryl slowly peered from behind the tree, his right hand on his crossbow, only to see a walker wandering a ways away. The thing went in a triangle formation and wobbled over a fallen branch. "Clumsy mother-," he mumbled to himself as he sent the bolt sailing into the walker's skull. He checked for more before leaving, not wanting to lead any towards the others and headed out, but it was just the one.

Once he reached the group he heard a, "Yeah, Daryl!" It was Glenn quietly whooping when he saw the five squirrels. The night before, the Korean man had professed how much he loathed collards and wished he had some cabbage kimchi which in his words was much superior to the canned "gunk" they were eating. Lori laughed in agreement with Glenn. Daryl wasn't sure what the hell kimchi was, but was pretty sure he'd agree in the event of a taste test.

He didn't pay much attention to the praise Glenn had uttered for the squirrels as it made him uncomfortable, never sure of how to take it and merely responded, "Shot one walker. Easy kill."

Rick nodded and thanked the hunter who had become his right-hand man of sorts, taking the gain from him and handing it to Lori for safe keeping. "I think if we stay on this road, head west a little ways, there's a gas station we may be able to siphon some gas from the cars there. Maybe find some food." Everyone nodded in acceptance of the plan. Hershel was the only one to voice acceptance saying, "Sure thing."

Daryl and Rick went in ahead of everyone else. The station was small, no need for anyone else to go in to help secure it. Daryl scanned the isles for walkers while Rick checked the bathroom. Nothing.

The two men nodded at one another in silent agreement to check the small storeroom down the corridor in the back of the store. Daryl went first, looking at the blind spot mirror which hung in the upper hand corner of the hall where it veered right. He pointed at the reflection of a body that was sitting, leaning against the wall around the corner and Rick raised his gun in case it was needed to subdue the situation.

Daryl turned the corner cautiously and made his way towards the body. He couldn't tell if it was "alive" so he tapped it with the toe of his boot. The thing sprung to life as if it had been awakened from a state of suspended animation. It was still hard sometimes to understand these creatures. Why they did the things they did was still unclear to everyone. They seemed to like traveling in herds. Guess they got the memo that there's strength in numbers.

One arrow was all it took. The storeroom was free of walkers. Rick poked his head out the back entrance and waved the others forward.

"I found TP!" Glenn held up several four-packs of toilet paper, his face animated with excitement. Maggie smiled at him and went to help him stuff the packs into an old, discarded milk crate.

"Thank God," T-Dog said, "I was gettin' tired of wipin' my ass with leaves." It took so little to boost moral.

Maggie scanned the rows for the feminine hygiene section of the mini-mart. Out of the already limited selection, not much remained on the shelves. No tampons. Only two small packages of thin pads. Carol joined her and shook her head. "You need them now?"

Maggie shook her head no, "In a week maybe. Should be that time soon."

"Me too," Carol sighed. The two looked up to see Daryl staring at them from the other side of the row of shelves, accidentally overhearing their conversation.

"Not my problem," he grumbled and turned away awkwardly, abandoning a candy bar he'd been holding. He'd come back for it, he decided. The two women chuckled at his reaction.

"There's not too much canned food left." Lori was saying to Rick. Carl was loading another crate with canned green beans and mushrooms. "Make sure you check the expirations on those, Baby," Lori said to Carl who nodded at his mother's request. "Mostly stuff no one else wanted." She was turning over a box of instant grits, trying to think if they could use them or if they'd just add unnecessary weight to haul around. She finally decided on taking them. She took each box and neatly piled them in the crate next to the beans and mushrooms. She turned around to look at the next isle when her eyes fell on a gold mine. Meal replacement bars, granola and two cases of Ensure. "Rick," she said and pointed. It looked as though the row had been fairly ignored by previous scavengers. The way the tension on her husbands face melted broke her heart. She'd gotten so used to his perpetual grimace that it felt odd to see a half smile creep across his parted lips.

She did feel guilt over Shane. Trying to be strong had caused her to seem callous to Rick. She wasn't sure if pushing him away was a conscious act or not, but she realized the week prior that she was doing it.

Hershel and Beth kept watch by the back door as T-Dog and Daryl siphoned gas from the abandoned cars in the parking lot. They'd done well on food and other goods, but the few cars in the lot didn't yield much gasoline. Maggie found some jugs of water in the store room. Racks of soda lined one wall. Daryl opened a box, still taped up from the time the store's last shipments came in. It was full of chips. "Yes 'r no?" He asked Rick's opinion on the matter of whether to take or leave the box. Rick thought a moment. It was a tough call. They weren't nutritious but in a pinch they might be glad to have it, especially with winter coming. He planned to have Carl unpack the box later and stack the bags neatly in the back of the Suburban to take up less room. They could toss them if need be.

Daryl was loading the box into the back of the Suburban when Beth squealed. He saw three walkers at the edge of the woods and whistled to the others to get going. One wore a dirty sundress, the other two only had, cloth shreds left. They all piled in the cars and Daryl revved his bike, leaving just as they were noticed.

They drove at a low speed down the back road, Daryl taking the lead as usual. He'd taken to driving several hundred feet ahead of everyone else in the event that he needed to warn them of impending danger down the road. It was much easier than their caravan getting hung up, and having to try to turn around all piled up on top of each other if there was a herd or blocked road ahead.

About three miles down the road, Daryl rounded a curve in the road. He slowed and held up a hand signaling the others to slow as well. Two walkers lingered about a quarter mile up the road. One stood in the middle of the road, the other rambled a little ways ahead of that one.

Rick pulled up in the Suburban. The two men look at one another for an answer. If they went on ahead, it was possible they were driving into a herd and let's say that they were a little hand shy of an occurrence like that.

"Take our chances?" Daryl cocked his head and squinted in the sun. "Area should be pretty safe. Haven't run into much up here at all."

Rick nodded, Daryl restarted the bike and side by side they slowly made their way, the Hyundai following close behind.

* * *

Maureen stood fully clothed for the first time in almost three days with the men. She kept one hand on the wall in case she lost her balance again as she had almost fallen over not five minutes prior. She was looking at the supplies they'd amassed, searching for her belongings. Her large, grey backpack covered in patches stood out at her right away. Her supplies had been removed, but most of her personal belongings including her clothing were intact. "Where's the sketchbook that was in this bag?" She asked hesitantly.

"That yours?" Mack reached behind him in a stack of books that were in the 'leave behind pile' and thumbed at the pages before he handed it to her. "You're talented." She didn't thank him for the compliment. She looked at the books and grabbed the soft cover of H.P. Lovecraft short stories she'd hastily packed before leaving her home when it all began. She could see the photo of her mother poking out, still saving her place in the old, ratty book which she had since she was nine. "Might want to think about things you'll actually need." She glared to herself at his comment and continued looking in her bag, making sure the few pens and pencils she had left were still accounted for.

"As far as food goes, we've set this pile aside for you. A few cans of soup, some crackers, spam, and your favorite: baked beans." Maureen surveyed the rations, wanting to make sure she got her fair share after all she'd been through. She was a little more bold now that she knew she'd be leaving soon.

"I want that bag of rice and those dry beans. That can of chili instead of the pork and beans," She spoke quietly, but firmly. Her hand slapped the wall as she once again caught herself. Floating black spots that curled and twisted, and turned into white sparkles dancing in front of her eyes.

"You do, do you?" At first he looked as though he was about to tell her to get the hell out, but he relented, seeing as it didn't make nearly a dent in what they had. And they did have a lot. They were set for a very long time. They had all they would need to make it through the winter if they were careful. "'lot for a little girl to carry."

It was a fine line, making sure she didn't pack too heavy, but the food would make up most of the weight. She was small and still fairly weak. Before this began, when food was plentiful, she weighed a mere 100 pounds at five feet. She was down several pounds now and she made sure to pack as light as possible otherwise. On foot, she wasn't sure when the next time she would come across food would be. She wanted to be prepared in case she needed the food. Though she wasn't certain she'd be needing it after the day was through. She still wished she hadn't woken up that morning. She was still dirty, sick and weak.

Next he handed her a blanket on which rested a box of matches, a spoon and a filled 24 oz. water bottle. "Good?" He asked. She nodded, quickly trying to think of something else she may want. She was sure she'd think of something later, but in that very moment nothing came to mind. The last item on her list was a weapon.

"What about weapons? I need to be able to protect myself." She'd been on her own most of her life. The idea of being alone for a third time in the new world hurt.

"We have that all set for you. You take a left outta here and walk a quarter mile up the road you'll see a sign for the Griffin town line, you'll find what you need under it. Can't have you shootin' or stabbin' anybody here."

Maureen shook her head. "I'm not walking one step out of here empty handed," she added, "Please something, anything."

"Figured you say that much. Here," He handed her a fire poker which satisfied her. It was firm in her hand and the point was reasonable.

"What's waiting up the road for me?"

"Smith and Wesson revolver and a good sized hunting knife."

"What about ammo?"

He reached for two boxes. She thought it seemed generous. "Shoots 38's, holds five rounds. There's plenty, as thanks for last night."

Maureen's teeth clenched and she stifled a bout of nausea thinking back to the previous night. Her insides were aching.

He leaned in, she stiffened and curved her body away from his as he whispered just loud enough for his closest man to hear, "You know you liked it up the ass. You're gonna be begging every man to do what I did last night from now on. Has that effect." Maureen doubted that. Her eyes watered and she cleared her throat to distract herself. She didn't dare cry in front of him; the mocking she was sure would ensue.

"I'll be going," She said gathering her things and turning for the door, just wanting to make a smooth escape.

But he grabbed her upper arm, squeezing hard. "Don't you think you might wanna say thank you?"

"Thank you for the opportunity, but no thanks." The man looked stunned and faltered for a moment and so did she, utterly surprised at her own words. It was the redhead in her that sometimes caused her words to flare. She immediately regretted them even before the man even reacted.

"Told you she was an ungrateful little fuck and we should kill her, Mack," said his friend. It was rare to hear anyone say his name. This comment angered him as there had been much debate between the four men regarding the girl's fate. He made the final call to let her go and now she was making him look like a fool.

The next thing Maureen knew, she was being slammed against the wall, the wind practically being knocked out of her. "Wanna try again!" It wasn't a question at all.

"Thank you," she stuttered and said slowly a little stunned from the altercation.

"Thank _you_," he said in return and smelled her neck, taking in her scent one last time before he let her go on her way. He felt her stiffen more at the advancement. "Run along."

Maureen opened the heavy office building door. It took leaning all her weight to open it. The light made her advance slower than she wanted, having to let her eyes adjust to the sun. She heard the door close behind her. With one weight lifted, she was now worried for a different reason. There was strength in numbers and she was alone. Again.

"You havin' second thoughts, Mack?" The man asked as the boss stared at the door the young woman had just exited through.

"Get back to it. We leave in thirty," was his only response.

It's funny how that survival instinct kicks in. The girl's eyes immediately took to scanning for movement. She forgot the idea of ending it all. Her hands didn't seem to want to do what her brain told them as she fumbled with the bag, but she managed anyway. Each step was painful, but it didn't seem to fully register. She didn't let her mind wander. She stared straight ahead in a manner that said she was on a mission.

A quarter mile down the road, under the Griffin town line marker, as promised was the revolver and hunting knife. She was pleased with the two. They looked easy to handle if she needed them. She hoped she wouldn't, but knew the reality of the situation. Making sure the gun was loaded, she tucked it into her waistband and buckled the knife, safe in its belt holder around her waist. She had learned to shoot out of necessity. She'd never even touched a gun before the outbreak and while she was an okay shot, she wasn't confident in her abilities.

The trek so far was quiet, but she wasted no time getting out of the tiny town and moved as quickly as her shaky legs would allow, which wasn't very fast. They wobbled under her like a newborn calf. It dawned on her that she wished she had asked for a map. Or at least been given the chance to look at one to get her bearings. After a month of being cooped up, her sense of the area was waning. She made a mental note to grab one at the next safe gas station they came to. Maybe she could find a car. She missed her old, beater of a Cadillac. She shuddered at the thought of it sitting abandoned on the side of the highway where she'd left it months ago. Her heart ached for the memory. She had so many memories in that old thing.

Not knowing where she was exactly, she made the decision to remain on the back roads and look for a safe place to spend the night. If she really needed to she would sleep in a tree. It wouldn't be the first time.

The afternoon rolled around and the sun was at its highest. She felt woozy once again and stopped to take a small sip of water. Her body ached, especially her hips which felt like they were grinding against the sockets of her pelvis with every stiff, robotic step.

Maureen had been moving at a snail's pace for the past two hours. She quickly surveyed the area for a safe place to rest for a moment. The adrenaline that had kept her going back at the office building was dwindling. She didn't like not having a plan. She was a planner. She liked to be prepared for everything.

She walked up the middle of the road a bit further, shakily, hoping she would come across a spot soon before she passed out.

She stopped still as a post, a walker was ahead in road and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to take it on. What if there were others nearby and the sound of her fighting it off drew them in? She could turn around, but the idea was entirely unappealing. She stared up at it through her long bangs. The thought of death crossed her mind again. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She was close enough that she didn't dare move as not to draw attention. She felt her heart racing and anxiety building. She wanted to cry but shook the idea out of her head along with that of death. She sat her bag down, feeling as though she might pass out or throw up. Or maybe both.

Her internal debate seemed to go on for a long time as she stood only holding the fire poker. She was drawn away from her thoughts, straining her ears. She thought she heard an engine. After a short time she knew she wasn't imagining it. She slowly turned her head and saw it to be a slowing motorcycle. Her head throbbed and her hearing faded in and out. Everything was fuzzy and dulled.

Fear and insecurity rose inside her, bringing her back as her adrenaline buzzed her higher. She whimpered silently in her head. They'd seen her already. The last time she came across a group, she didn't know if she'd make it out alive, honestly she didn't want to. She was turned toward the group now. They were stopped a ways up the road from the direction she'd come from. Her attention was completely off of the walker down the road. The caravan began to move again and she backed up, moving to the side of the road, but still not off of the pavement when she realized there was a particularly tough looking man on the bike bearing down on her. She reached for her gun.


End file.
